


Five Stages of Connor

by Nope



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-18
Updated: 2005-04-18
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: He knows his father loves him.





	Five Stages of Connor

_I got nothing to say I ain't said before_  
I bled all I can, I won't bleed no more  
**"This Corrosion" - Sisters of Mercy**

**1\. "Be good. Fear God. Do as you're told."**  
  
Steven's tied to a tree again.  
  
Dawn in the Quor-toth. Mustard coloured clouds bruise the bloody sky. Steven swallows thickly, Father's taste still in his throat, and twists against the ropes. His jaw aches. Father's fingers left bruises on his scalp. His wrists burn and bleed as he struggles. It doesn't matter. He heals fast and, besides, pain is just another thing to leave behind. You travel light in the Quor-toth or you don't travel at all.  
  
He does not let himself wonder where Father is or what he's doing. He knows Father loves him, has not, nor ever will abandon him. He knows to focus on the moment, on the ropes. Father is teaching him to be strong, getting him ready, preparing him for the mission at hand. There is evil in the worlds, not just this one but the world from which they came, and the evil must destroyed. This is what he does, what he will do, what's most important. This is Father's gift to him.  
  
The knots finally give, the ropes drop. He just lifts his head, tests the air. The scent is old but there.  
  
Father loves him. Father is waiting for him.  
  
Steven hunts.  
  
  
  
**2\. "I had my throat slit and all my friends abandoned me."**  
  
He hates this world, doesn't belong in it. This is not where he's meant to be, no matter what Father said. Everything is fake here. Everything. This place. These people. Even the grass. The trees. Nothing feels real. And there's too many of them. He feels them, moving. Smell them. The fake scents they splash themselves with. The sweat beneath. The fear, the rage, the frustration, the hate. Disgusting.  
  
Father's dead now, of course; they both are. Dead, damned and gone for good. And he's. Steven. Connor. Whatever.  
  
Wesley fills another glass, blank faced, but something there in the eyes, dark and shining. The betrayer and the betrayed. The Judas, like his father taught him; the one who does what's necessary for the bigger plan, for the greater good and pays the most for it. He tries to remember that he's looking for Justine, but really he's just watching Wesley's throat work, watching the thin red scar move when Wesley swallows.  
  
He never forgets his fathers loved him, even if sometimes he wants to bring them back, just to kill them all over again. Then he reminds himself he hasn't actually killed anyone. Yet.  
  
Wes licks his lips. ConnorStevenWhatever watches.  
  
  
  
**3\. "It was a symptom of a disease I've since been cured of."**  
  
He watches her sleeping, curled up there in his bed in this little space he has claimed for his own. Grimy windows and stuffed dead things and a couple of dozen traps just to be on the safe side because you always protect your habitat and best of all, her. Cordelia. Slow breathing, cute little snores. Cordelia, all soft and strong and beautiful and kind and warm and there in his bed.  
  
He's brought Cordelia some of her things, not much yet because he doesn't like leaving her alone for too long, doesn't like the thought of her waking up to find him gone, but some. He wants her to feel comfortable her. Comfortable with him. And he's got food, if she's hungry, everything he could remember Cordelia liked and a bit more for luck. Drinks. Clothes. Anything she wants.  
  
It will all be better soon, he knows. He'll help her out and she will make it all better. If time is what Cordelia needs then he can wait. He can do, he will do, whatever it takes. Whatever she wants. He'll find anything. He'll fight everything. For her. So he sits. And he waits. And he watches her sleep.  
  
  
  
**4\. "It's not your fault. I don't blame you."**  
  
And in the end, there's nothing. Big surprise there. Certainly didn't see that one coming. Everything getting taken away from him. Just like always. Cordelia. What is it they say? Only sleeping? Hah. Might as well be dead.   
  
Connor can still feel Jasmine's fingers on his skin, her kiss on his cheek, but there's nothing but a deep dark hole in his head where she used to be. Might as well be dead.  
  
The night's cold and there's no warmth left in the blood on his hands. Just the sticky cling, the mess, the grunge he can't get off. He remembers being warm. He remembers being touched. He remembers being loved. Being special. Being a daddy to the most beautiful girl in all the world. Hah. Again.   
  
And now he's just. Cold. Lost in the darkness, in the fading echoes of her words, her kisses, her caressing gaze. Lost and alone. Nothing but street light blurs and the rain slick blacktop. Shivering again. Tired and cold and aching and empty and more alone than anything ever was or ever would be again. Feet still moving, all by themselves. On and on.  
  
He wants it to stop.  
  
It needs to stop.  
  
  
  
**5\. "Maybe you're growing as a person."**  
  
Connor knows he was supposed to stay away but, well, he's never been very good at obeying the rules. Like being born of vampires. Heh. And so they kill the dragon, together, and stand against the tide, together, back to back and grinning through the blood and the violence, together. Connor and Angel. And, impossibly, perfectly impossibly, they win. Which is cool.  
  
Also: ow.  
  
But what's fire and foes between friends? Between family? And sure, clean-up's a bitch, but they're doing it together, so it's good. Great. A little icky, but great.   
  
Out under the clear night sky, the glittering stars, the humming street-lamps. The two of them, side by side, working together, in sync. Sharing quick grins, bright happy flashes of teeth. Casual nudges. Angel's hand on his shoulder. Brush of cool fingers against his forehead, pushing his hair back. Matching laughter when Connor mock-pouts and bats the hand away, shining in Angel's eyes.  
  
And maybe the asides whispered for his ear alone are a little mean, but they're sharp and funny. And maybe Angel's eyes linger on him a little too long, a little too intensely. But it's okay. It's all okay.  
  
Connor knows his father loves him.


End file.
